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Had he been given more time, the boy might have continued on his ethereal march, clambering over waves and overpowering tides. He may have coasted all the way beyond the stars, admonishing the horizon, entangling his way through other empires, kingdoms, and sovereigns, bound to nothing, no one, only the sway of his power over the water. He may have explored vast regions and scaled great heights, been forgotten about in a series of silly volleys and misguidance, been taken to elsewhere for eternity, where no one knew his name and none of his friends disappeared or died. But so many things altered his vision: the love and devotion to his family, to his realm, and the begrudging vengeance kept him tied and tethered to this world – so he simply stared below his feet as the ebb and flow rolled beneath them, watching fish scatter and sand be carried back upon the shoreline. He laughed when the ripples ghosted, when the echoes of the gulls rose and fell, when Orsino grimaced as the water splashed his fur. The fiend would have persisted in an enduring masquerade, a lively falsehood of ebullience and joviality, in pushing past the walls of hate, contempt, and loathing, had something not caught on the edge of his vision.
His eyes snapped, riveted, raptured, by the trace of a wing.
Not full of fluff and feathers like the crying gulls or the dipping swallows, but leathery, draconic.
He could hear Orsino hiss through their connection, raspy and unbound, sibilant and coarse, and Erebos could only think, could only feel, the source of his molten immorality building and building, fueled and incensed by the notion that the Colossus was here and perhaps this was his chance…
But a second look, a clearer notion and sentiment, revealed it wasn’t the painted monster’s companion at all: because this was one was furnished in crimson.
The breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding loosened, jagged and torn from his lungs, and he studied, examined, through narrowed eyes instead of wide, unbidden ones, careful and methodical, trying to calm the frantic beat of his stammering heart. He managed to offer the smallest of nods, a token balance of politeness to carve away the prior sentiment of absolute rage, and Orsino rolled his eyes, settling in a pout near a massive rock. The boy, however, chose to forego anything more than nonchalance on his face, glancing at the stranger with particular nuance and detail – because he’d sworn he’d seen the massive beast somewhere – black and white, not unlike the murderer, but he had no grudges with this one. He knew naught of him. The stag was not a friend, not an ally, not a comrade, but as of yet, also not an enemy.
You fought the Gods; his words reverberated along the watery surface Erebos stood upon, and the prince’s lips hastened a ruffian, roguish smile. The other monster had given an answer in one form or another, no name, but a place, a segment, of where they’d passed each other. Perhaps while Erebos haunted with fire and darkness, the other had chiseled away at ligaments and arteries. Maybe while the scion bent and scraped and harpooned his way alongside his brethren, this lad had whittled and absconded, helped and aided. He tilted his head, reprised the role of curious onlooker, not a beast waylaid by reprisal and abhorrence, and stirred the amiable quality of his voice, never quite losing the impish sketch of his grin. “I did.” He paused, stepping off of the surf as a king descends his throne, tracing over the foundation of sand and dirt. “How did you fare?” Then, extending more tactful, diplomatic yearnings, he proffered introductions, regal, noble, defined by things he’d learned, by how he wanted to scale the world. “I’m Erebos – who are you?”
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[P] Blaze rage red is the color of youth
