Days had slipped by since his encounter with the Moon Goddess, and peace had finally settled inside his heart. He owed Megaera so much more than his life was worth, for accompanying him, for helping to settle the fear that was in his heart. The friends that had remained by his side were worth so much, valued above all else and all others in his heart. At last he'd found absolution, and he had seen once more the light at the end of the tunnel. He'd made a promise to himself, a vow as he leaned on Megaera as they exited the Veins, that he would make sure he returned the favor. Tell each of his friends how much he cared for them, offer for them - at last- a solid shoulder in return that they had always offered him.

It was...strange, to not be haunted by the darkness anymore. To be at peace. Cera had spent so long in the dark that he was blinded by the possibilities all around him, the ability that lay at his hooves. He had so much he could do, and with renewed resolve he intended to go about doing them. The god battles, of course, held precedence, but at last he could see the future that lay before him. It was glorious, and he wished quietly that Midas was there to see it. That he could show Gaucho that he was worthy, that he had at last achieved balance. Those he looked up to seemed to be receding from his life, and though he'd finally found the strength to pursue them, he couldn't help but occasionally wonder if it was him that was driving them away. That they wanted to be gone. 

It was why he had set out to find Rasta first. Their friendship was perhaps an odd one, and Cera could barely even remember how it had begun. Perhaps when he had been the only one to defend her for speaking her worries about Gaucho leading? All he knew was that she'd stood beside him for a long time, had sought him out in the Throat even when she did not need to. It was time that he return the favor, seek her out instead and see how she was faring. Especially now that his life didn't feel like it was falling completely apart at the edges. 

The flight, at least, was familiar enough to not really pay attention. If he did, he would undoubtedly be overcome by the memories. His first flight lesson with Hototo the day they'd met, or when he'd crashed - quite literally - through the canopy in his distress over finding his father's sinister replica, and his baby sister's birth. It was easier to fly without the shadows shrouding everything, but the eerie auras persisted, and Cera wished he could find someone with dark magic to help heal him of the cursed sickness. He didn't want to infect Rasta, but if the medic that had come from the Falls to heal the Throat was any indication, she would be safe if she sought him out. 

Pay attention, Cera. Don't go over the borders, Ilaria said kindly, jolting the Prince out of his stupor. Humming softly in gratitude he banked, slow spirals as he descended, Ilaria clinging comfortably to his nape. The grass was dry in the Tallsun heat, and he turned towards the borders, careful not to cross them lest he incur the wrath of one of the guards on patrol. "Rasta?" he called loudly, hoping beyond hope that she'd be somewhere in his vicinity. Unlikely considering how large the herdland was, but he could hope nonetheless. If anything, it'd attract a patrol unit, and then he could ask for entrance or for them to find her for him. How did she even navigate such a treacherous herdland with her blindness? It was...concerning.

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Though it took a while for her to surface, Cera never moved from his place, knowing a patrol would come across him if Rasta had not been in range of his call. He needed to see her, the first on his list of those he needed to apologize to and make amends with. His darkness had blinded him, until he could not see those who stood along the sidelines in silent support. In some ways he was bitter that the support they'd offered had not been active, but...well, he'd not been an active friend, either. It would be hypocritical to fault them for that, especially when he had been the one to seclude himself from them. Even more so when it all lay in the past, and he stood as healed as he could possibly be at the borders of the Falls, waiting for the chance to prove it. 

She came stumbling and uncertain, looking far worse for wear than she had been when she'd wandered to the once-bridge of the Throat. He tries to smile, but he cannot lie to her nor to himself, and instead gentle pale lips pull into a frown. What had happened to her mate, Alleo? And of her herd? She does not belong here, Ilaria growls softly from his withers as she gazes upon the quiet, blind mare. But it's not their job to spirit her away, to a land she'd intentionally left, with a leader she still had old wounds with. It would do her no good, but Cera longed for it anyways. 

Steps forward to embrace her, feeling helpless to do anything else, and drapes himself around her withers to pull her closer. Sighs softly against her skin, and relaxes to feel her close once more. Safe, because clearly in some ways she was not, in the Falls. To him it is a cursed land with the ghosts of his father and his brother, and he selfishly does not want her to live here, but he cannot force her anywhere else. 

Ilaria shuffles over for Ettore to land and make a nest in Cera's hair, squeaks at him happily and lounges against the ridge of Cera's left wing. The two can figure out everything else together.

Cera frowns softly into Rasta's skin. Yes, he's fine, but..."But you're not," he pointed out softly. "What happened, Rasta?"

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She is a trembling leaf against him, shuddering valiantly against the storms that eternally rage against her. He sighs softly into her skin, letting her lean as much of her weight as she needs against him, willing to be her rock in this next wave of unfair cruelty. It was what he had needed, in his own times of grief at least. He could do that for her, in her suffering. Regardless of what unknown, yet-unspoken trials she faced, he had the strength to shield her and support her now. Even if he hadn't been so whole, he would have scraped together any piece he could find to offer her what she clearly so desperately needed. 

"I don't...I don't want to be here." Ilaria's paws dig into the muscles of his wing joint, and he almost shudders with it. Doesn't allow it, just in case Rasta mistakes it in her grief. She belongs with us, in the Throat, Ilaria snarls inside his head, Cera's protectiveness of Rasta just as strong in the red panda. And for far more than just their mental and emotional connection. Rasta had been one of the few long term friends Cera ever had, one of the few to stick around even when he was in the depths of hell and couldn't see past the shroud of darkness his life had become. But he flinches as she says his father's name, can't help it. No matter how whole he has become, it is a sting that will never die, an ache that will never ease, an emptiness that will never fill. 

"He's dead," he explained blankly. "When my father was stolen by the Basin. He was killed in some freak accident." Didn't, couldn't, explain any more than that. But Alleo...oh, he had so much more to say about that. Teeth gently grasped at the sparse strands at the base of Rasta's mane, tugging on them to jerk her attention more firmly than any few words could. "Then he's a piece of shit for disappearing," he snarled firmly into her skin, eyes sparking like emerald fires, distaste already sinking into the depths of the color. "You deserve so much better than that." What was with him and those he loved, always falling into awful relationships?

Her macabre thoughts should have been surprising, but...Cera had been in that place once before, and he understood why she was entertaining them. "You still would, your body can't ignore physical pain signals even when everything else seems to make you numb. Trust me, I know," he laughed mirthlessly, eyes sightless as he gazed over her shoulder. "Did you know, just a few seasons ago, I asked Gaucho to kill me?" Nuzzled his pale cheek across her skin, stepping closer - not that it was really possible with how close they were already pressed. "But here I am now, and I'm whole. I'm okay. If I can achieve that, so can you." Or at least, he hoped so. 

But he leaps on her next words, backing up and pressing the flat of his forehead towards hers, wanting to share the same breaths and let his own scent and being fill up her senses. "Come home with me," he nearly orders, voice strong. "I rarely leave. Please. Ranjiri would love you, and I can introduce you to Mesec, and we can fix things with Gaucho and I'll always be there..." You're rambling, Cera, Ilaria chides him softly. He quiets, takes a steadying breath. "Just...please? You're not safe here, I don't...I don't like this terrain for you. Please come home." 

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He has nothing to say to her incoherent rambling, if only because he does not understand it. But there is at least one thing he does understand, and he sighs softly to hear it from her tongue, because he had known it would appear there at some point during their reunion. "Everyone deserves love, even the most wretched of souls. My Lord taught me that." There was simply nothing else he could think to say to try and comfort her, not when she would not accept it. He knew she wouldn't, because he knew all too well the darkness that enveloped her so readily. He had tasted it, worn it, breathed it for so long. Even if he was wasting his breath, he had to try. She had, when he'd been in her position. 

It's instinctive to flinch when he sees her cut herself, jolts forward as if to stop her, but Ilaria stops him. Shimmies down his leg and hops over to Rasta to curl her tail around the blind woman's ankle, healing the cut as readily as it appeared. With her motive in mind, Cera sighed softly around the words that Ilaria could not share directly with Rasta. "If that is what it takes to make yourself feel, I won't stop you. But Ilaria will heal you over and over again. If you need the pain then take it, but we will not allow you to keep the damage." No matter how badly it hurt to see her slicing herself open like that. Why would you ever give her that kind of magic? he prayed helplessly to the Earth God. 

But then she goes and insults his family, his Sultan, his father if he ever allows himself to call Gaucho as such. "And you would insult someone you barely even know, someone who has changed without your knowledge. Keep your vile hatred to yourself, it is not the Rasta I know." It is spat right back at her with the same amount of venom, perhaps more for how his soul turns to writhing flames instead of gentle heated coals to hear her speak against the Wildfire. 

Even still he sighs and lets it fall away to turn his forehead to her, because he can't leave her in that darkness alone, no matter her baseless insults. She follows alongside his breaths, and so he deepens them for her sake, making them louder and easier to follow. If this is all he can do...well at least it's something. "My nephew had no wings and a horn and was still welcome and loved upon our sands. Our head healer Sikeax has lived there for seasons with no wings to aid her. And who cares if you cannot help immediately? Many people wander aimlessly on our sands. That is not a problem." That is why they were called citizens, after all. 

"You have to take a chance, Rasta. Do you fit in here? Do they love you here? At least in the Throat you will have me. Isn't one soul better than none?" Okay he was guessing a little there, for she could rightfully have friends in the Falls, but he needed her to come home with him. He could not leave her here, to the wolves of the Falls. To the curse that had hated him as much as the land. 

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Rasta's soft breath on Ilaria's skin only causes the panda to purr roughly, soft paw patting on her coronet in place of the words she could not communicate to Rasta. They were creatures not made to converse, and her soul was irrevocably tied to the Golden Prince, but her emotions were her own most days and she held a deep, reserved love for Rasta as she did for most of the few friends Cera had garnered. Utilizing her magic was not a problem, so long as the pale, blind woman did not have to suffer lingering agony. A tortured soul could not be healed so easily, but wounds of the flesh, at least, could be cured with the intent of her magic. 

Both souls patiently awaited the trembling words that crossed her lips like ships on unsteady waters, the minor outburst on Cera's behalf calming once more into gentle coals instead of raging flames. There would be time later to return to the Throat, but they would spend as much time as Rasta needed merely standing before her, bare foreheads touching gently and exchanging breaths. If it helped her in any way, they would submit themselves to it. 

Though their words alone could not convince her to leave with them, she promised to at least think upon it. It was enough for Cera, though he feared for her safety in the Falls. Glancing at her companion, he hoped that whatever had kept her safe these past seasons would continue to safeguard her until the middle of Orangemoon. "Do not change how you think for anyone's sake aside your own. Do it to make yourself happier and healthier, Rasta. Not to please me." It would rather displease him instead if she were to do so. Nevertheless he couldn't not grant her the one thing she'd ever asked of him, though he sighed softly against her muzzle in defeat. Nuzzles against her to try and distract her from her tears. "Take as much time as you need, Rasta. I will always be here."

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