Яikyn

The God discusses with those that ask him whatever it is they wish. Logically, the illnesses are brought up, a section of conversation which I take an interest in, the rest sounding almost like duplications of what had been said by the other Gods in the lands wrested from the Rift so far. While the Sun did not bring with him dangers and diseases, I cannot help but smile still at how similar the strikingly different Gods have been.

I could try, if you’d like?

My ears lift, eyes glistening with a hopeful light as they return full focus to my dark brother – though from what I know of Erebos’ magic, this is going to hurt. The excitement flickers momentarily in dark wonder as to what exactly it’s going to feel like, but is reborn at the thought of fresh, crisp air, drug easily through clean lungs. The longing for air that smelled like something more than nothing, and a distinct lack of the other strange… symptoms of this plague born the Moon’s stolen land, it permeates any other worries I might have at the pain to be found in the touch of the Reaper’s son.

"It can’t hurt," I ironically say, a smile of knowing crossing my mouth at how very much it can.

And then we are both distracted by the God and Aithniel, who stand together amidst the throng of worshipers; even as Erebos answers my earlier inquiry (what do you make of that?) her voice calls out, a question, and I cannot help but find a laugh breaking from my lips, one that is swallowed by a cough.

"Why didn’t you ask sooner?" I answer, reaching over to nip in Erebos’ direction (maybe accidentally grabbing his skin in the motion), mostly trying to get him to follow me towards Aithniel and the powerful figure embracing her. I am as eager to be in proximity of the strange God as I am to be near Aithniel again, after our brief encounter before the Bear had attacked.

I wonder if she is still mad at me – if she is, it doesn’t seem to matter now that I have something to give her.

Women.

They are all the same, sisters or not.

But then Erebos asks a question of her that makes me stand still as stone, turning back to look at him with eyes wide at the idea that my little orphan sister is a Divine’s child. I look back to her, aureate gaze glistening with confusion and black goop, my tail (which had been curling, eager to be near her again) stilling behind me.

The egg rolling towards her across the earth, the tautness of his wing across her shoulders, their feathers blending, is like a strike in my face, the softness of his words somehow so very cold and ruthless to my ears. It holds me in place, the thought to fix her ailments distant under the weight of how very insignificant I must be to her now. That she hasn’t come to be with me as she had when we were very small is suddenly, painfully outlined to me; I am no longer needed, am I?

Not if… is she really the daughter of a God?

"You are, aren’t you?" I ask, voice so full of emotion that it quivers and crackles, even without the help of my slime laden vocal chords.

in every heart a hole