Sunlight seemed to be drawn to Cera like a magnet, imbued itself into his skin and light him up from the inside. He reflected it like his name implied, sheaves of gold turning the harsh rays of light into something glorious as it radiated through his skin on wavelengths nearly everyone could see. He had burned his destroyed self, thrown it into the flames of his anger, his despair, and watched it smoke to nothing. In the wake of Hototo's death, he too had been killed. But where his brother could never return, Cera had blossomed into vitality like he'd never experienced before. His Lord seemed to have anticipated this development, as Cera trusted he surely must have, and with limitless crafting at his beck and call, Cera had exploded into being so fiercely he took even himself by storm. There were so many possibilities, so many things to do, to be completed. The metal beneath the sands seemed to sing to him even as he stepped back from his work, flanks flecked with foam and sweat and eyes wild with emerald flames of passion.

Still, in his furious ascension, Cera had in turn avoided that which lingered from the precipice of his near ruination. Those around him had propped him up, taken his side when he had crumpled pitifully. Cera had vowed that he would return the favor, that he would express his gratitude in as many varied ways as could be imagined. Yet one thing stood out to him, echoed in dual foreign mouths, echoes that rang hollowly in his ears as a grim reminder of his seclusion from the problem.

Rhojosor. Family.

Cera had hidden away from Ryuu and Ranjiri after their explosive fight, unlike any they'd ever had before. Ranjiri had been flame and fury, biting into his soul when Cera had too little left to give. They had burned each other beautifully, in a way only loved ones could, dragging each other down and hitting where they knew it hurt. A shameful betrayal of the trust they had always put in one another, but one they had angrily indulged in, so succumbed to the throes of their rage had they been. But Gaucho and Sikeax had said to him, nigh promised him, that even broken things could be fixed. Though Cera still held deep, resounding reservations concerning Midas in that regard, he could admit to himself that things with Ranjiri were not too far gone. He could perhaps still reconcile with his sister, with the only sibling he had left.

So he awaited her return beneath their tree, the one Midas had left him at, alone and broken, for the word of a God. Cera tried to swallow past the bitter recollection, forced it from his mind as he let time revolve and spin past around him. Midas had no place in the conversation that was to take place. This was a matter that concerned only he and Ranjiri. And so he would wait forever, if it were required of him. He would become a statue, would sink his roots into the sand and clay forever until she returned to him. He'd promised her once that he'd never leave her side. Cera intended to mend that ruptured vow.