Legs stretched, reached, out to touch and cloak the constellations, limbs pulsed and churned to race the stars, and the meticulous veil of evening provided him with naught but escape and delusion. He could hear Orsino splashing into the puddles alongside him, two nefarious moths hastening without a flame in sight, barreling down ridges and flatlands, burning through their endless charades. They must have seethed and smoldered for a long time, burrowed deep into crescent valleys and lunar abyss’, watching as the splendor, the decadence, of night dared to be exposed into morning’s bright song. The pair only ceased all movement in one great, gallant rush, sliding through pools of water and watching the edges break, shatter into cascading droplets, tickling and staining lanky columns and hardened pillars. The boy let out a vivid sigh, and on the lingering vestiges of summer there was no puff of warm air to indicate his presence, no loosened shard of heat curling away from his mouth. His laughter broke over the fiery lament stirring his heart, across the keen, blunt, notions of Orsino’s untamed, savage temptations, beckoning his stride to a slower pace as dawn peeked over the horizon, and without warning, without notice, another’s voice coiled through their fabrications and delusions.
 
They both halted abruptly, alert and vigilant, ears pricked, eyes widened, and the kitsune’s growl distorted, cluttered the sound waves marking the stranger’s appearance. Erebos took his time, fought a regal, defined interlude of calm and composure, allowed his features to remain stoic and balance, with only a brow quirking at the strange, tranquil essence clouding over the Flats. He looked lonely? For an instant, he wanted to turn to his companion and chuckle again – he hadn’t been truly alone for some time – but if she meant without others nestled beside him, without his fire-forged friends grinning, smirking, and snickering amidst all their silly wiles, all their capricious, mercurial habits, then she was astute, correct. As his gaze folded over her, riveted and raptured for snippets at a time, too interested, too inquisitive, to ignore her altogether, he noted a kindling of familiarity – though very brief, as if they’d simply passed each other on route and missions. Perhaps she’d been a part of the Basin, one more shadow flickering between darkness and light, perhaps she’d been another creature locked in the war of Gods and their disciples, struggling to make sense of their cause, their plight. But as he stepped closer, a few yards away, indulging the scorching, enticing, tempting blades of his curiosity, he noted the darker, ebony frame, the coating and dusting of spots – and he remembered her from the days on the mountain as he hollered into the void, attempting to bring Psyche’s daughter back into their fold. But he hadn’t caught or ensnared her name, and she seemed to have drifted away into some other memory with no particular existence. He hadn’t even known whom she belonged to, which soldier or scholar or sleuth had cared for her. He didn’t know anything – ignorant all over again.
 
But perhaps she didn’t know him either, and they were mere remnants, stuck and held together by days amongst ice and snow.
 
While Orsino glared at her, Erebos tilted his head, donned a ruffian smile. All rogue, imp, and cretin, he dodged, evaded, the depths of her statement, stifling a mocking laugh yearning to bellow through his vocals. “Perhaps.” He didn’t ask her if she was lonely, if the notion had struck her because it was reflected on her face, on her soul, on her longing, and instead, merely postured the normal greetings, not yet daring to delve any further into the abyss. “You were a part of the Basin,” and here he searched her stare again, bestowing names beside faces. “I’m Erebos. Who are you?”

There were secrets held at bay, kept and tucked and sequestered somewhere within both of them, and he clasped, clutched the urge to ask about all of things she dared not speak of. The otherworldly, entangled sanction of his eyes remained solely on her, a child of the snow who’d strayed – like so many before her. How many times had he asked why Rikyn had left? How many times had he wondered what made Aithniel clamber to sands and dunes? How many times had he pondered over Adelric’s whereabouts? There were more, scores more, because they’d once been so proud, so young, so many banded and united together under a banner of ice, and then, quickly thereafter, it was as if they’d all forgotten. But while she brightened under the recognition of her old home, he darkened, a narrowing of his eyes, a dangerous course of exasperation caught over his muscles and sinew, for he was frustrated with the way the world worked, with the way everyone cast aside allies, comrades, without saying anything, without notifying anyone, just leaving him. Perhaps it was because he didn’t matter to them. Maybe he was one more thorn, one more barb, they didn’t wish to snag themselves upon. Or he was nothing, nothing at all but a speck of dust and flicker of memories; a blue prince shuffling across the horizon with his emblazoned smile and his gallant stride and his honorable intentions driven, driven, driven into vehemence.  Time changed everyone into the disillusioned or the dreamers, and he didn’t know what he was anymore, wandering from place to place in search of power, requital, and contempt.
 
Orsino snarled at her, but Erebos ignored his haughty display, settling his brows in a fine line, his thoughts into a clearer pattern – he shouldn’t have been hostile because she was just one more in a long list of those who’d abandoned the caverns and the cliffs for another kingdom. Was it easy, he mused, to turn one’s back upon those who’d protected, shielded, and sheltered them? It seemed relatively effortless, facile, and simple to those who’d fled their world – but the boy knew his heart would have collapsed had he ever thought to escape from his family. He loved them. He cherished them. He vowed to avenge them. And what did all of the others do? Flee. Abscond. Disappear. Vanish. Sneak away. Were they cowards? Were they destined for something else, something greater, something more magnificent than the chilling empire? The boy didn’t understand any of it, couldn’t bring himself to think of a time and place where he’d disregard his sanctuary. Erebos’ gaze flicked from the horizon, to the shamble of darkness and shadows, to the bewitching reflection of puddles against an everlasting sky, and clenched his jaw.
 
He tried not to be angry with her. She’d gone elsewhere to be with her father. At least she had a reason. At least she had a motive, a goal – and that was likely more than the others. The lad’s stare returned to her, light and affable, as if naught else had passed through his mind – no sentiments of loathing, no grinding despair, no sinuous, unwinding vexation. His answer came on swift allegiance, quick adherence, pure, commanding, cold faith in the palace of winter and power. “Of course.” Where else would I be? he wanted to ask, and Orsino hissed, high and keen, through their connection – and instead he inquired into other matters, highlighting curiosity over irritation. “Who is your father?”