They’d lost all something – some too proud to say it, some too furtive to voice it, and some were obstinate, defiant, to the things they’d let slip from their grasp. He tried not to dwell on it any further, the runes spilling over the pages, the infernal, intangible strikes against his Machiavellian mind that attempted to stoke him into action (he couldn’t see the legends of lineages right in front of him; draconic and gold, ghosts of mirages, of fate spun by rancor and might, felled legions, snatched beasts). The youth ignored it because he was sullied and seditious too, waiting for the moment to flee these labyrinth walls and place himself amidst more speculation, more disaster, more oblivion, feeling nothing, seeing nothing – numbed and brilliant, scorching and seething. Amaris of the World’s Edge, for everyone seemed to live there, proffered only the miniscule details, allowing nothing to fall apart and splinter into the ground – much like the Reaper would’ve done, nonchalant and composed, right until the end. He indulged her smirk with a snicker of his own, a mischief maker’s poor humor, before imparting his voice again, back into the unknown threads, weaving too many webs for his own taste. “Another from the Edge. What a popular place.” Here he winked, laughed, loosened a raw chuckle from his throat as if it hadn’t seen the light of day for eons, boyish and silly, narrowing his eyes and forming his stare back along the void, poignantly reaching for the distant haze of memories. “Father and I went there once. Seems like a nice land.” The General shrugged thereafter, because he hadn’t been in the mists, in the fog, in the murk, and had only known the ice, the chill, the blunt, glacial fringes of mountains and caverns; hadn’t understood the appeal – but knew the stories of how it had been soaked in blood.
 
Then, it seemed, their conversation had come to its abrupt end – Kiada’s patience fizzling, seeking out other things (though the healing barb caught him off guard – and he almost asked her how she intended to lead the world from a menders’ position, but then it seemed foolish, almost irreverent, to mock a dutiful life – and if anyone could, it’d be her) amidst the enigmatic world. “Take care,” he hastened back to her, calling out as she reached towards the shadows and beyond, uncertain if she’d heed the advice. His gaze flickered back to Amaris, one more smirk coiled along his features, then bowing his head at his cue to leave, to explore, to take another winding road. “I’ll leave you to finish your nap. Good day, Amaris.” With that, he slid away too, he and his companions maneuvering fluidly into the shadows, Stygian presences roaming deeper into the darkness they’d always intended to savor.