Circuta’s friends were all going at once. I raise my head to watch their progression out, glancing down to Skýlos who looks to me with her raised browed, sweet expression of not knowing but being faintly concerned. One of my winged herd mates is in the sky and the others move by foot, the figure of Florabella in my line of vision which stirs a unique contrast of emotions within me; myself, the being that I have always known to be Cealestis, likes her, wants to call her a friend.

The other part wishes to hear her scream, if only to watch me writhe.

Since coming to this place, I have not trained as hard on the physical aspects of myself; I am growing older, more complacent, perhaps, but it is also for them that I do not work on my body and train instead my mind. It will not do in this place to assault at the whims of my blackened spirit, and so I must remain placid, harmless.

Dog is not so. She grows and grows, her weight nearly double what she seems, as if her bones are dense as stone. She is strong, swift, powerful; everything I once was while under the mad eye of my mother and her pets but never as cruel or unjust. It grows easier to overlook her flaws the longer we have together, though I still do not tolerate her foolishness – it seems, however, that she has figured this out.

And so we coexist, tethered together by ancient magic and held apart by that which curses my blood.

The others are going west, which is odd. I was under the impression that these people lived in the southeast, where the giant tree and the red water were, at least before they had come here to this serene haven. I wonder why it is they are leaving, or if they are coming back, and while I don’t truly wish to bother myself with the matters of these peasants and half breeds I begrudgingly admit to myself that following them is most likely imperative, if for no other reason than to be informed.

Skýlos barks, knowing that we’re going to go through the emotional wiring that bonds us. Her tail wags erratically behind her and her pink tongue lolls, always the sort to thrive among others where I grew bitter and withered. She’s excited, it pulses against me, beats against my desire to remain where I am.

I raise my wings quickly, a shhhck rising into the air as they reach full extension upwards, the initial thrust of their expanse bowing the grasses low and making Dog bolt forward with tail tucked to avoid their buffeting touch as my hooves propel me forward.

And I am flying, perfectly peaceful, for now. I follow the dark figures below that mark the kin of Circuta, my companion’s blip the most prominent to me than any other of these mostly strange people. Her enthusiasm ripples below as she bobs and ducks through the obstacles on the way, a blue bullet that is never more than ten feet behind my trajectory and seemingly tireless as a summer storm.

There, I think as Skýlos’ resounding storm of joy from below at having found them all confirms my guesses. Looping as I am prone, I scan for the nearest area to land, hooves meeting earth and a cloud of winter worn leaves rising in the dispersed air. Trotting forward a few steps as my speed slows and hooves remember the soil, my tail slashes the air behind me for balance as great, blue wings fold in towards my sides, pupiless eyes trained on the direction of the gathering and voices.

I keep up the trot as I pass through the few trees, a clearing revealed in the serene music of a brook where a rotunda stands.

I take a deep inhalation in, my heart swelling in my chest.

Skýlos was not so amused by the others. She had seen this, and knew how I would love it; almost as if proof, she is at my side, jumping idiotically – though for once I do not care.

What happened to this place? I wonder, for surely there was something greater here once than there was now. First the writing, the stories in the stone, and now this; a standing building, the fabric still clinging desperately to its last living days and rippling gently in the wind, such artistry in every inch of the structure.

I have come to a cursed land. It drives me to return to the caves when this is done, to continue to learn what might be told.

I want to know, and it’s the first thing I’ve cared about since I’ve come to this land aside from my darling sisters; a sudden realization, one made as I realize that Eris and Circuta are within the Rotunda and not the white faced Seele. Murmurs rise from the others around my dog and I while I only scowl, wondering what sort of mutiny this is and whether or not I should just leave now before I could be associated with it.

But Circuta was up there, the only hope I knew of; not that I’d really looked elsewhere for help. Perhaps I should have after the first season passed without a single whisper, but…

How can one know where someone is, without having been told?

They could be dead, for all I know.

And then… then what do I have, but the words of dead men carved into the walls of a hole?



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