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The young scion remembered the waste laid to the earth, the rise and fall of the bear god, the thrashing, the crashing, the inexperience suddenly chiseled away and falling to splintered remains of innocence and devotion – and here, as his ears pricked, as his eyes dabbled from Rikyn to the Sun God in all his shining, magnificent glory, there was to be nothing. A strange uncertainty filled his chest and clawed at his insides, building a core of apprehension, of dread, of foreboding that probably should’ve been burned away by the deity’s promise. Naught coming from the shadows? Naught rising from the east, from the west, brandishing hostility, invigorating rage? Naught but hope, preservation, salvation?
He didn’t know what to make of it.
Instead, he smiled, charming and winsome, bowing towards the God, but not daring to speak, to offer anything, bestowing his gratitude through the folds of silence; even as others hastened their regards, their questions, he felt distinctly unworthy, too young, too foolish, too naïve to ask anything else of a celestial being – a prince by lineage, not by action. He would have liked to bask in the presence of the deity, to simply stare and be enraptured by his stature, by his regard, by any significant meaning, inquire over what the world had in store for him, but instead, his lanky, growing frame stayed nestled near Rikyn, watching, a lesson and measure in patience.
The sickness, some strange anomaly, clustered around the other’s lungs, a distinct crackle, a shambled roll of discordant cacophonies and ramshackle words, and his brow nettled into a dark, furrowed concern. While Orsino continued to balk, staying beneath his hind legs, shifting beneath a leonine tail and crying out his warnings, his whispers, his hisses, the Machiavellian fiend presided with an open air and a keen mind. Too much of his father’s calculating wiles had been passed along, too much of his mother’s gentle, caring guidance funneled through his veins, and the compassionate haze he held for his friends was beyond a labyrinthine abyss. If magic had cured another colt, could he do the same for Rikyn? Erebos held power: it thrummed, it hummed, it burned within him, brutal, conforming, twisting and turning, rampant and vibrant, pulsing; he wished it could be as alluring, as beguiling, as the Sun God’s. The lad extended his regards confidently, methodically, gesturing with the ghost of a grin. “I could try, if you’d like?”
Something else pulled Rikyn’s attention away from him though, and thereafter the colt followed the bay’s line of sight, tracing over the crowd, the legions, the throng, to find the riveting canvas glowing, presiding, luminescent. Aithniel: found again, more recently than ever in their first year of life, standing in front of the divine beast, then pressed, caressed, and stroked into his essence.
The boy simply stared and a feeling of complete, utter loss surrounded him. It hurt worse than the preceding days where he searched, where he sought, where he wandered, hoping for a sign of his friends and being given nothing in return, because something that was once so close suddenly felt alarmingly out of reach; intangible, unattainable. The sentiments were raw, bitter, and acrid across his tongue, and if the scene hadn’t mesmerized him, perhaps he may have frowned, grown petulant and sulky. Surely the girl was well beyond their reach now, christened and enfolded and anointed by a God, cherished and beloved by so many others - he and Rikyn mere, forgotten shambles of kinship and regard. Even as Rikyn croaked and coughed, the query heavy through his words, Erebos was quiet, biding and diving through the murk, the decree, and the strangeness. When his mouth finally managed to conjure any speech, they were still uncertain, deciphering, speculative. “Maybe she’s one of his favorites?”
But she heard the other boy, ignored Erebos altogether, asked to be cured, and even inquired towards the Sun God again, pondering over how she could help save, protect, and inspire salvation over the land. His eyes widened, and before he could cease the query, it kindled, flew, sparked across his tongue, a sense of daring, a trace of audacity, emboldened but not accusing, curious but not denouncing, wondering what on earth he’d been looking for when she disappeared from the mountains. “Are you one of them? The Gods?”
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