The unrelenting snow, wind, and rain feel like his heart – frozen at times, perilous, treacherous, snaking through the wisps of the slivered portions remaining, and he glared at the tempestuous weather lingering outside his cavern walls, wishing the world didn’t have to change.
 
But the Sun God’s words had always been a part of him too, crushing, lingering, steadfast and strong, telling him not to glance backwards, because that was no place to go, nowhere for him to roam, to settle, and to merely yearn for those moments would leave him nothing for the future. But that was all he wanted: the past, where he and his companions ran and ran across valleys without no cares, where his dad told him he was proud of his efforts, where his mother’s showery smile peaked over the edges of her regal features, where the empire hadn’t fallen into this listless, languid fringe. What was out there for him now, besides the blood-curling vengeance stoking his blood? Besides the incensed mutiny of a seditious boy, who only desired to crush those who dared to malign his own? What existed after that?
 
The prince used to dream and dream and dream, of power, of glory, of domination over everyone and everything alongside his brethren. He just didn’t know if it was possible any more.
 
A haunting cry pervaded along the inner valley, reverberating across his cavern walls, and the General’s head tilted, ears sweeping in various directions, attempting to pinpoint the location. His head jutted out of the aperture, allowing the drops to batter his skull, paying no mind to its cool, chilling touch (because this was normal, how he’d grown, how he'd become stronger), eyes narrowing and glancing towards the outer limits of their summits. Was someone hurt, ailing, or requiring aid? Orsino snickered something particularly nasty (no healing powers here), and the youth flinched. Then, out of pure stubbornness, left the warm, dry confines for the wild, savage wind and siren song.
 
The kitsune didn’t follow, hissing and spouting conniving remarks, and the boy kept shuffling forward, head down, blinded by the petulant weather, clenching his jaw in an age of persistence, tenacity, and outright defiance, failing to yield to the harshest of elements telling him to stay away. He followed the lengths and waves of the sound, pondering over what poor fool would be out in this ridiculous air, when his eyes caught over the sanctions of towering, decaying sentinels, still standing despite the wretchedness surrounding them, and then below, two figures carved out of the glaciers.
 
“Rikyn,” Erebos called, the name across his lips before he could even think to pause and announce himself, eyes widened in shock, in surprise, because the last time he’d bestowed the notion of returning, the other boy hadn’t seemed keen. Then they’d separated again, only to meet at the roads of the Veins, digging away for a fallen God who would seek to destroy them all (tricked, deceived, ruined once more). He didn’t expect him here, but through all the misfortunes, all the chaos, all the bedlam and sorrow, his heart lifted a little - glad to see his best friend.

Erebos

i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want