Since discovering his magic he has been like a boy with a new toy. His talent is simply wonderful! Endless hours are spent honing his newfound skill, excluding everything and everyone with the force of his determination to discover every caveat of his ability. Poor Vérzés is feeling desperately neglected, so unused is he to not being the centre of his bonded's attention. The young monolith discovered his magic quite by chance, but he is leaving nothing else up to the gods as he familiarises himself with every single aspect of it. Days have passed since the incident with Isopia, and barely a minute has gone by that Volterra hasn't been testing the limits of his mind's magic.

The sun is dying in the skies above as the colt stands, yet again, above a bare smear of earth, his bloodied gaze narrowed and focused fully on the ground before him. He concentrates hard, muscles twitching as he sends spasms of power into the rock nestling beneath the sod, easing it upwards until it bubbles out of the ground in the form of small, fetlock-height spikes. He finds that making small structures like this is a good way to train his brain and increase how long he can keep them for, allowing him to build up his mental stamina as he had so painstakingly built up his physical body. Making larger creations like his accidental fire-stopping wall saps him of his energy and leaves him a wobbling wreck, so he tries to keep things small and strengthen his mind, in the hope that by the time he's older he will be able to throw around walls and hills like they're going out of fashion.

Vérzés is not best pleased with the blackened monolith for his ignorance, and he perches behind the colt with his claws resting in Volterra's tail. He tugs on the still-growing strands of it, chirping frantically as he desperately tries to wrest his bonded's attentions away from the damned ground and onto him. Volterra rolls his eyes and continues manipulating the rock, enjoying the challenge of trying to maintain his magic whilst distracted by the tugs on his tail; if he is to utilise his power in battle, he will have to become accustomed to doing it whilst being attacked or hurt. Inadvertantly, the red dragon is helping him train.

That is, until one especially vigorous tug on his tail snaps his concentration, and with a hiss he feels his bond with his magic fall apart. The spikes he created fall back into the ground with a thud, but in his distracted state he can't control the thread of energy that leads to the nub of power inside his mind, unable to cut it off as quickly as he wants. The leftover magic lurches into the ground beneath his feathered hooves, dragging the rock obstinately upwards in the form of a tiny hill with Volterra perched on top. He gives a startled yelp at the sudden sap on his strength, but mercifully the plateau he's accidentally created is only miniscule, about as high as his knee. Vérzés looks rather smugly up at him, chirping decisively, and Volterra sends a grumpy mental jab in his direction. Still, this can still aid his training, so he concentrates on trying to maintain the small lump he's made in the earth, finding it even more difficult to do so given the fact he's standing on top of it. All good practice, though. ""

His eyes narrow, his concentration pushing sharply downwards into the stone until finally he allows himself to lapse, releasing the magic in a controlled burst. The rock beneath him crumbles and he lands neatly back down upon the ground, all four stout limbs planted firmly. His dragon is still extremely pleased with himself, puffing up like a peacock as he lurks behind his colt companion.

Volterra is about to go back to his training when he spies another equine approaching, watching as she cocks a hindleg. He tenses, half-expecting an attack, allowing his magic to caress the rock around him in preparation to throw up walls and all manner of structures if need be. Vérzés lifts onto his hindlegs, his amusement forgotten in light of a potential threat, his eyes blazing as a small hiss of wariness leaves him. With a resounding ping, a bullet-rock flies towards boy and dragon both, landing a little to the side of where Volterra's accidentally-made mound had risen just moments earlier. His ears, which had been flattened to his skull in anticipation of a fight, lift back to their usual curious position - magic. If the mare had intended to hit him, he's fairly sure she would have done. As a result, he assumes she simply intended to show off, rather than actually cause damage to him. Which is fair enough - the young monolith shows off his talent to anybody who'll listen.

She comes closer, and he looks her up and down. He notes her eyeing Vérzés, and the ruby beast doesn't fail to notice that, either. He flares his wings and drifts upwards onto Volterra's withers, his claws digging hard into scarred and tight flesh as he peers at her, forked tail waving lazily behind him. Volterra doesn't notice that the mare seems wary at the sight of the dragon - after all, he's only ever met equines who revere the scaled ones, not fear them - but Vérzés certainly detects something, and a pleased hiss leaves his narrow jaws. He wants to be feared, admired, hated, even. He wants to be known as the bringer of death and destruction, not simply a pretty, shiny accessory to decorate his bonded's shoulders. He is no idle jewel, all beauty but no bite. He is a destroyer in the making, red king, and he certainly approves of the mare's reaction.

Volterra, meanwhile, is too focused on her words to notice his dragon's reaction. "Thank you," he says, bristling up slightly with delight at the compliment. He is, after all, tremendously shallow, easily won over by a boost to his ego. Her mention of its uses in battle haven't escaped him, either. "I can't wait to try it out in battle. I imagine yours is rather useful too - if that rock hits, it'd damn well hurt." He eyes the rock she'd kicked, glimmering innocently nearby. Imagine that impaling you in the brain!

Before he can speak to her further, another approaches, and this one does have the young behemoth tensing. Spotted-stallion, witness of Quinn's gory death. Volterra himself hadn't brought that death - he had been too young then, too naiive. Abraham had given the girl her passing, and he hadn't done it nicely. The cowardice of the attack still doesn't sit right with the colt, because there had been no glory in the mindless abuse of an already dying mare, yet he now thinks he understands the reasons behind the pleasure the self-proclaimed Leviathan had gained through the torture of the horned one. Not that that made it right, of course.

Judging by the spotted unicorn's attitude, however, Volterra begins to wonder if he is blamed, too. Blamed for standing idly by as the unicorn burnt to death, blamed for his inability to help when his body had screamed at him to do exactly that. Fancy it, him trying to save a unicorn - blasphemy! Father would have been ashamed. It wasn't me, he wants to shriek, but the very thought of the words repulse him. It seems weak to apportion blame like that, even if it was the truth. The scream of owls draws the colt's gaze momentarily to the skies, and the red dragon on his shoulders glances upwards, too. Hunger rumbles through him, passing into Volterra via their mental rope, and he feels the crimson's claws tense deeper into his flesh as he fights his natural desire to rise into the heavens and chase the owls away. "Going to have them peck me to death as revenge?" he asks, his voice so very sarcastic at the thought.

Just try it.

Because he thinks himself infallible now; he is the Earthbreaker, magic and dragon by his side. Abraham isn't here to receive punishment for his crimes, so perhaps Volterra will have to, instead. Not that he will take it sitting down.

She speaks of a wall and he nods, remembering his first creation, a stone barricade to prevent his dragon flying into the flames. "Walls are my speciality," he says with a small smirk, magic bubbling beneath his skin to prove his point as he urges the ground to his right to lift into a small wall, up to his chest-height. Although this wall is admittedly smaller than the one he made when he protected Vérzés, he is pleased to find that it doesn't exhaust him anywhere near as much as his first one had. He is growing stronger at an alarming rate, and the idea thrills him.

He allows his structure to tumble back into the ground, looking back to the mare with an aren't I clever expression. Her next words pique his interest and he looks to her, dying to ask more - but she advises him not to speak about it in front of others and he nods, shooting a sidelong glance towards Mauja. Oh, he wants to plague her with questions, but that is likely not the best idea in front of the spotted unicorn, so he gives a sharp nod of agreement. Perhaps they will be able to speak alone once the stallion leaves - if he leaves Volterra alive, that is.

He looks to the mare, adjudging her reaction to Mauja. She looks ready for battle, ready to brain him with a few well-aimed stones, and he thinks that between them they could probably take him down. That would certainly impress her, he hopes. The stallion's ears flex downwards at Volterra's words and the titanic colt's muscles tense, sensing an imminent attack. But that is the only sign the spotted one gives; he is a wall of ice, impassive, but all the more dangerous for it. He is a sharp contrast to Volterra, who is all fire and rambunctious attitude, his heart worn freely on his sleeve and his emotions usually free for all to see - the young monolith can become stone-faced and stoic with the best of them, but he rarely chooses to do so. He prefers to be open, his attentions blatant for all to see.

Why would I, he says. Volterra's eyes narrow and he feels Vérzés tense upon his back, his claws digging deeper into his flesh as his tail sweeps across his hindquarters. The dragon continues to eye the owls, ready to lunge upwards at them should they show any sign of swooping towards either equine, ready to devour the feathered frames if they move to strike. "Because he killed her," he calls back, his own tail arched high and swishing to display his agitation. Not fear, because there is little the beastling fears, but agitation, anticipation at what may follow.

He looks to Colt, deciding to explain. "I came across a dying unicorn mare. A man I know, he...tortured her, took advantage of her weakness." And I could do nothing. Now he is older, stronger, Volterra would likely have stepped in, but back then he had been young, naiive, small and damn near frail. "He saw," he adds, gesturing to the ice-unicorn with his whiskered muzzle.