They were two figures lost in a storm neither seemed capable of handling. Tethered together by the bonds the man they'd lost had made, ones that would last long past his death. Perhaps it was one of the few things Midas had ever done right, though he'd seemingly failed at holding any relationships of his own. He'd brought Cera to Hototo and Ranjiri, and the three would be in remembrance forever when it came to their legacies. Midas may have left them an impossible road to follow, paved in gold and apathy, but Cera would not walk it. He would not fill those shoes, take that glory to bolster himself. For too long he had been a shadow, a cast-off of the glow Midas had always seemed to harbor. Never quite enough. Not blood. An orphan. Nothing except a charity case to bolster the proud leader. Another reason for the masses to love him, because he was so kind to have taken the abandoned slurring colt beneath his wing, and with no mate at that! Cera hated it. Hated that Africa had seemingly stolen what little remained, with a meager few seasons to her name in comparison to Cera's years of living with and loving the man.

Onni and his Lord had once preached love, not hate, to his young ears when he'd arrived dull and defeated in his murderous glory on the sands of the Throat. His fake-father's words still ringing bitterly in his ears, as they would for years onward. Cera had kept that faith, buoyed himself with it, but for the first time he let himself sink beneath the surface of his own goodness and revel in the hatred he felt for all the years spent tirelessly working towards being sub-par.

The only thing that kept him floating was Ranjiri stepping forward to return his embrace, smearing blood carelessly upon one another. Blood had never tied them anyways. Cera would never be able to be tethered by it anyways, outcast and orphan that he was. It didn't matter to him, never would. Love was so much stronger, so much more important than something as worthless as blood. Her apology was barely a murmur in the haze of his own anger and despair, but he murmured forgiveness complacently in return. How could he not?

Truly her explosion should have been expected, but Cera instead turned deadened eyes to her, clearly unimpressed with her childish screeching. He had no patience left to give, hadn't he already given enough? How could she still be so foolish and blind in the face of this harsh reality? Or perhaps she simply had not suffered as much as he did. Gods spare her. "But you wish to cherish his charred remains in your nightmares?" he droned coldly, uncomprehending. "Torturing yourself does not honor him. But it's your choice, not mine." And with that he ended it, because he'd not fight with her. Not now, when they'd already lost so much.

"If you want my memories, have them. I don't doubt the Gods can copy them to you if you want something of him more pleasant." But of course, that's not what she'd focused on. His tongue had slipped him in his dark, decaying bitterness and betrayed that which he'd never desired to tell her. What did he have to further lose? Oh...that's right. It wasn't he who could lose anything, barren as he was. But it was clear Ranjiri still clung to her innocence, and it was that which he'd be destroying.

"There were evil copies of ourselves running around Helovia before you were born. Midas' clone was particularly evil, he was dying in this land as the Gods purged them, but he tried to kill me. I merely beat him to it." It was said in a mechanical voice, lest he drop into those memories and never return. He had compartmentalized everything until it was bearable, and had henceforth never deemed to touch those memories again. Turning his eyes slowly to Ranjiri he gave a wry grin. "So I know your burden. But when life left his eyes, it was under my power. I was the one who had to hurt him, to spill his blood. I watched him die and wondered if maybe I was wrong, maybe it was just a curse, or possession. Maybe it really was Midas. So when I tell you that it's better to let it go..." Tiny shoulder shrugged. Eyes dropped. Stopped for fear of scaring her with the details of his own disgusting sins. "Then again, I never did."

Summoned by some sort of nostalgia, Cera dipped his nose to the scar across his breast, letting lids drop and eyes shutter. Breathing softly against the wicked thing. Like a holy man reaching for his rosary in times of trouble, but distorted into something rather gruesome considering it was the scar that had nearly ended his life - the first time at least.