Gone from the melting pockets of snow and the cavernous ruins of his brooding discord, the Reaper maneuvered across vast, open lands, rolling fibers and sinew and coiled muscles through rapacious annals and callous canals, catching only the schism of inquiry as he motioned along the constant abyss. Had his eyes not been set upon a wandering sojourn towards the Deep Forest and all its viperous, monstrous allure, he may not have even noted the peculiar range of light and incandescence; but his gaze spotted the fragments, the beams, the strange blaze, and followed, just as pulled and tied and tethered to flame as the rest of the moths. His movements slowed, particular, finite, speculative and scrutinizing, as he witnessed the bursting edges of the Sun God rise against the unfamiliar land, the intriguing stretch of land he’d never sought: like little indents of sea and surf, sprawled across rocks and tapestries, canvases of ancient empires and enigmas. Attracted to the ocean and its calling gulls, its serene backdrop, its sousing, drowning vestiges, enticed by the infernal simmer of fire, an avaricious gleam stole along his mind, just for a moment, just for a snippet, wondering and pondering before he noticed others joining amongst an unwinding mass, some familiar and well-known, others jutting out in strange figures and delving into deeper folds of mysteries. Perhaps the largest, however, was the existence of this newfound world and all the secrets captured, locked, and bottled within it. Was this what the Spark God had spewed when his frustrations conquered the mirrors’ reflections? Had the Gods discovered something else, something more, something unwinding: a perilous venue, a glorious artifice? And if so – just what was inside that made it worth the gathering troupes and the approach of deities? Conniving and calculating, the winter Lord festered near the outskirts, not quite enthralled into the passions of the throng, embodying one of his talents (silence, scrutiny, slithering), curving along the outer wake, dabbling his hooves into puddles and beams of fire – relishing for a taste, an opportunity, of the labyrinth’s twine to unroll.

[Hangs out on the outskirts of the crowd.]