Ever since the Time God battle, Kaj had been dreading the seasonal spars. He knew the injury’s extreme nature was born of his own stupidity and stubbornness, but the Aurelight had never anticipated such a life-shattering change in his relatively young life. The stag walked with a pronounced limp, left shoulder jutting awkwardly, unwilling to shift. Glass metal lay familiar against his neck as he headed out, preparing himself beforehand. He carried it like the burden of a memory it was, of dark-lipped smiles and buoyant laughter. The chainmail could not be properly felt along the ridge of his left shoulder, which only dropped his mood further. The nerves were either deadened or aching, and there was little to no relief to be found on damp days. Kaj had never been more thankful for Tallsun, if only so his bones would stop feeling like they were aching all the way through his skeleton. He feared defeat, feared the contemplative look that he knew would begin to form in the eyes of his flock, wondering if he was capable of defending them any longer. He feared having his crown taken from him, the only life he’d known for the past countless years he’d been in Helovia. The entire time he’d been a soldier, since the moment he’d grappled and clawed for the Wingleader position in the Edge, and then he’d been a Lead ever since. What else could he possibly know how to do? Who was Kaj, without a title, without a flock to protect and a family to serve? What was he?
 
It was a terrifying notion, made only further horrifying by the idea that he didn’t even know who he was without his mantle. Had he disappeared so firmly into his role that any individuality had been erased? Without it, would he crumple, a useless heap of flesh and bone with no guidance and no purpose? The thoughts plagued him as he moved east, skin crawling with the reminder of the territory where he’d lost a portion of his mobility. He hated the feeling of weakness, of brokenness, but he could not leave Isopia waiting on the battlefield as so many others had left him. He had to try, and if he was to fail and fall beneath her young, inexperienced blows…at least Kaj would finally know his limitations, would know whether he deserved to continue to hold the title of Czar.
 
He prayed she’d look upon his defeat with grace, if the time ever came. It was sad that Kaj trusted no one else with his downfall, craving her rationality and the peace that came with it. He’d wanted to speak to her for so long, but the god battles gave no time between. He wanted to be insignificant once more, to speak with her plainly, his heart the only emotional burden that separated his ideals from her own. Odd, how he missed her, and yet never sought her out before now.
 
Seeing Isopia standing in a world drenched in red made him shiver. Though she was removed – or at least distanced – in her compassions, Kaj cared for her. Sentimental old fool he was, he despised seeing her in a landscape that held so many metaphors of death and loss. There was no time to waste talking, his heart too heavily burdened with the crippling shadow of potential loss. He turned his face into the sun, trying to find enough solace to continue on, before his eyes opened to gaze upon Isopia.
 
“Good luck, naamloos,” he called across the distance, already shifting restlessly. She was tall, taller than he, and it reminded him of fighting Maskan and Bronze. They were the only ones he’d engaged with that had ever matched him physically, and he was used to those tactics, fighting from a height advantage. This would be an entirely new experience, a further disadvantage.
 
Kaj steadied himself. He would save a flighted battle for when his leg turned too far south, keep Isopia on the ground where her raven form couldn’t lend her more airborne agility. He charged forward, favoring his right leg, wings tucked tight as he remembered how Bronze had targeted them in the past. For a second he almost aimed for her knee, instinct telling him to cripple her joint to end the fight fast, but then he recalled the wounded scream Resplendence had let out when he’d allowed himself to slip too far into his headspace of violence and quickly changed plans. Right shoulder aimed for the soft spot behind Isopia’s right leg where her ribs lay, seeking to use his mass to shove her closer to the water that would slow her movements. Prayed that he would not wound her as grievously as he had Resplendence. He’d never be able to forgive himself.