The mongrel kitsune that greets him can only be his dam's dog; the colt's ears prick, his thick neck arching and massive head flailing towards the sky as he unleases a bestial bellow of delight. Mother! He thinks of nothing else but the ground under his hooves as he breaks into a headlong gallop, demanding Vérzés rise into the heavens to visualize his path to his creator. In tandem, black yearling and red dragon bomb towards their source, towards the skull-faced mare who made them.

Quickly, the territory becomes familiar. The leviathan slows, snorting an icy blast of air from his nostrils as he realises where he is. A year and a half ago, his wet, fledgling frame emerged onto this very soil in a blast of blood and agony, with his sister alongside him. He remembers dragons of bronze and green, of a black egg given to his twin, of a magic-imbued amulet given to him, of the mysterious man that sired him and gave him his white forelegs, his size, and his lust. Ah, is mother dearest feeling a tad nostalgic?

And there she is, in all her glory - she emits monstrosity, she demands obedience. As he gets closer, he realises he towers over her now, and marvels at the fact he once fit like a puzzle piece inside her body. But despite his size, despite his power, he holds his proud head low, demure. She is Mother, one of the only living beings he truly respects. He wonders what greeting she has in store for him - will it be a loving embrace, or a fierce nip of venom and steel? Will she be proud of what her son has grown into, or disgusted at the fact they did not break her from her prison? They tried, of course, but it simply wasn't possible.

Vérzés lands heavily on the giant's forequarters. Curiosity tints their bond, and Volterra detects an urge to go closer, to examine the mare who smells of corrosion. He has only seen her from a distance, but now she is here in all her glory. "Mother," rumbles the beast, edging closer. There is little use lurking a safe distance away - if she wants to punish him, she will. And he, black king, does not cower. He extends his velvet muzzle, seeking to slowly blow into her nostrils in greeting, not showing a single sign of flinching away despite the fact he fully expects to feel teeth snap into the tender skin of his face.